The Observer is a student-run, daily print & online newspaper serving Notre Dame, Saint Mary's & Holy Cross. Learn about us.



A Jimmy John’s romance

| Monday, February 26, 2018

This past weekend, I went on a date. The date went well, but even better was how we met.

As a front desk worker in the dorm, I’ve always admired one of the Jimmy John’s delivery drivers who appears frequently by the front desk with fresh sandwiches in hand. He was cute and seemed my type, so I would always crush on him from afar. How can you not crush on someone who is cute and brings food?

Eventually, though, crushing on someone from afar gets old. I decided to take matters into my own hands and actually get to know this mysterious Jimmy John’s delivery driver. One night when he delivered me my slim four with avocado, I wrote my phone number on a scrap of paper and folded it into the cash tip. Not long after, he texted me. “Hi, this is your Jimmy John’s delivery driver. There seems to be a mistake. You left your phone number in the tip!”

Coincidentally, I don’t make mistakes.

After a week of talking on the phone, just like our parents used to do, we went on a nice dinner date. I agonized about what to wear, asked my friends for conversation tips and worried about what would happen when the bill came — all classic antics before a first date. The date went well. We experienced our fair share of awkward silences, but what would a first date be without awkward silences? We at least avoided going on our cell phones to fill those silences, and instead let the silence just be that: silence.

What took our date from fun to great was the fact that it was a true, classic date. We didn’t meet on Tinder, and we weren’t dating with the goal of just hooking up and not seeing each other again. We intentionally got to know each other. When planning, we called it a date. We didn’t say we were just hanging out or getting together the way so many people do. He picked me up like a gentleman, and he paid the tab. Call me old-fashioned, but I appreciate that kind of gesture. We avoided checking social media and texting the whole time, and we laughed a lot. Honestly, I forgot how nice it feels to actually date.  Not swipe on Tinder, text and hang out, but actually date. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve used Tinder quite a bit, but nothing compares to organically meeting someone and hitting it off. One criticism of our generation is that the art of real dating is lost, but this date restored my faith in it. We’re not all lost to the world of swiping right. Who needs Tinder when you have Jimmy John’s?

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.

Tags: , ,

About Colleen Zewe

Contact Colleen